


All Light Goes Out

by Author_Of_Sin



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dark, F/M, Pain Train, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Really dark, Rite of Tranquility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:31:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3825754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author_Of_Sin/pseuds/Author_Of_Sin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She tries to find him in the Fade again. She finally finds him. It does not end how she expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Light Goes Out

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a complete pain train angst-filled mess. Originally posted on tumblr for angst night.

She tries again. It’s been a year since he left, but she refuses to give in. She _will_ find him, if she has to spend the rest of her life searching the Fade to find him. It would be worth it, no matter how fleeting the glimpse, to see him again.

The gaping hole that he left in her chest when he’d left without a word ensured that she would seek a way to fill it. 

Her advisers had looked on with pity as they saw her slowly diminish, doing their best to try to find the mage for months, to no avail. He’d left no trace, no trail to follow. Whispered rumors of a hedge mage near one ruin or another had only carried them so far, every effort ending in failure.

Their efforts were barely even token attempts now. Something to soothe her mind, to grasp at her straws of stability.

So she dreamed. She hunted him, desperation driving her, pushing her forward. She thought she’d nearly found him a few times, she could feel him, _taste_ him, but he slipped through her fingers like sand.

It was maddening. She’d begun to forgo meals, locking herself away in her tower in favor of sleep, in favor of the hunt. So consumed was she that she hadn’t even noticed how malnourished she’d become. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she keep trying. It was her addiction.

* * *

He can feel her again, in this, his realm. Once more, he will have to avoid her, will have to dance on the edges of her never-ending hunt for him.

She has become rather proficient at hunting him; several times she has nearly caught him. But he is the master of this realm, and while she is a powerful dreamer, he is still in control.

She has chased him to the edge of ruin, even haunting his waking hours. At times, he can feel her presence there, lingering on the fringes of his mind, prodding, searching, but never finding.

He shakes his head in frustration and agony. He cannot keep this up forever. He doesn’t know how she has kept it up as long as she has, as persistently and constantly as she has.

His worry for her has become more than a mere distraction. He knows if she does not cease her efforts soon, her very mortal body will give out. This prospect frightens him even more than her finding him.

But he cannot allow her to find him. If he does, he allows her hope, allows her the possibility that he could come back, that he could be her _vhenan_ once more.

He wishes he could tell her why that is impossible. But his mission is nearly complete. To give in now would mean failure, and he cannot accept that. He will correct his mistake. He will leave this world a better place than he found it on waking. He _must_.

He growls in frustration. He can feel the insistent press of her, she is getting too close again. He rushes back to his meager camp in the middle of the cave, refreshing his wards and casting himself into the Fade as he lays on his bed roll.

She is closer than he thought. She’s almost on him now, he must act quickly to divert her or she will find him. He begins to reshape the scene before him, gently producing a detour for her to take.

For once, he indulges in a selfish desire. He watches her. As she nears the wall he’s erected between them, his eyes widen in shock.

She is no longer caring enough to present herself in the Fade as she sees herself. Her actual, real reflection is the version he sees, and it breaks him.

Her cheeks, once soft and beautiful, are gaunt, skin stretched over bone tightly, clinging to the angles hungrily. Her eyes, once bright with life are recessed in their sockets, the hollow shell of her soul staring out through them desperately.

Her clothes hang from her body limply, her hair, once full and shining, is dull and lank against her scalp.

He places his hand against the wall, mirroring her own hand as he hangs his head and weeps. He has driven her to this. He forces himself to look up through the tears warping his vision at what selfishness and pride have cost her.

She will die soon if she continues on her reckless path. It is written plainly on her face that she knows, but doesn’t care.

He has a choice to make. It would be the right one, for both of them. It would be reversed once his mission is complete. It wouldn’t be long now, a few weeks at most. It would give her a chance to recover, and him a chance to meet his destiny, and his end.

His voice shakes as he lowers the wall and speaks, “ _Ar lath ma, vhen'an. Ir abelas,_ “ he casts the spell just before her bony hands reach him, the joy in her eyes extinguishing as the spell finishes, ” _Ir abelas._ I am _so_ sorry _. Wake up_.”

He watches her form dissipate and turns, forcing himself awake. He jolts back into reality, curling into himself tightly as he weeps for both of them.

* * *

She wakes, the world around her duller than she remembers as she struggles to an upright position, then looking in mild fascination at her emaciated limbs as they tremble with exertion from simply holding them in front of her.

She feels faint, realizing there is a deep-seated physical pain in her stomach. She realizes she must be hungry. She slowly stands, her legs shaking under her as she begins to make her way to her bedroom door, down the stairs carefully and out.

She reaches the main hall and goes to the left side, seeking her spymaster. She makes it to the rotunda, looking up and calling out for Leliana.

She sees the hooded woman peer over the railing, her hand raising to cover her open mouth, her face a mask of shock.

“I’ll… be right down, Inquisitor.”

Lavellan nods and waits quietly. She hears the woman’s hurried footsteps echo down the staircase and she comes into view, alarm and concern on her face.

“Maker, I must get you to a healer, Inquisitor,” she grabs Lavellan’s arm and slings it gently over her shoulder, slowly moving with her to the exit.

“If you believe a healer is needed, I will comply. I may, perhaps be in physical need of sustenance.”

Leliana’s brow stitched together, looking at Lavellan with confusion, “Inquisitor, why are you speaking like that?”

“I was not aware I was speaking like anything.”

She felt a shudder from Leliana, “You’re speaking like a tranquil. If it is a joke, it is in poor taste.”

“I assure you, I am not attempting humor.”

Leliana stopped, staring at Lavellan in horror.

“You _are_ tranquil. Andraste preserve us, _how_?”

"I… do not know. I remember a face just before I woke, it was Solas, the apostate mage whom we have not seen for nearly a year. He kept apologizing repeatedly, then I awoke. Is that important?”

Dread settled in Leliana’s features, “I believe it might be, Inquisitor. I believe it might be.”


End file.
